


Odds and Ends

by Shatterpath



Series: Smut 69 Table & BlackSheildScienceThunder [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Body Image, F/M, Ficlet Collection, First Time, Oral Sex, Restraints, Teasing, Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:51:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2612327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatterpath/pseuds/Shatterpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of unrelated (or barely related) one shots as inspired by the Smut 69 table. Be prepared for anything!</p><p>The table below is spread over all three parts of this series. I had to share the love y'know, after all, this <i>is</i> a smut 69 challenge!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Infamous Table
> 
> 1. | Moan | 2. | Writhe | 3. | Satin | 4. | Lube | 5. | Ring  
> ---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---  
> 6. | Restraints | 7. | Feather | 8. | Leather | 9. | Massage | 10. | Candle Wax  
> 11. | Ice | 12. | Oil | 13. | Thrust | 14. | Breast | 15. | Throat  
> 16. | Taut | 17. | Supple | 18. | Strained | 19. | Whisper | 20. | Lick  
> 21. | Kiss | 22. | Blindfold | 23. | Handcuffs | 24. | "Toys" | 25. | Orgy  
> 26. | Corset | 27. | Scent | 28. | Dominant | 29. | Submissive | 30. | Kinky  
> 31. | Erection | 32. | Champagne | 33. | Cuddle | 34. | Foreplay | 35. | Intercourse  
> 36. | Afterglow | 37. | Cherries | 38. | Fingers | 39. | Suckle | 40. | Virgins  
> 41. | Sluts | 42. | Relationships | 43. | Talking Dirty | 44. | Sweet Nothings | 45. | Proposition  
> 46. | Bottom | 47. | Top | 48. | Cunning | 49. | Heart | 50. | Heated  
> 51. | Lips | 52. | Role Play | 53. | Threesome | 54. | Self-Love | 55. | Voyeur  
> 56. | Cyber | 57. | Phone Encounter | 58. | Strangers | 59. | Best Friends | 60. | Enemies  
> 61. | Slick | 62. | Wet | 63. | Deep | 64. | Dirty | 65. | Bad  
> 66. | Wrong | 67. | Writer's Choice | 68. | Writer's Choice | 69. | Writer's Choice  
>   
>   
> 

**Moan**  
There was something about the freedom of the feeling allowed to bubble up and escape on that throaty breeze of warm air from her lungs. A permission to feel, to experience, to lust and sweat on her own terms and no one else's. 

 

**Writhe**  
Big hands swept over her skin, curious, tender and rough enough to make her whine and mewl, just at the razor's edge of begging. For to trust his great strength not to hurt her was a shot of pure lust, something that might even be adoration, burning through every nerve from brain to tailbone. 

 

**Satin**  
Natasha was grace and power, a flashfire of death wrapped in the satin of ballet shoes. The softness hid her strength. Natasha liked to watch Steve work out, hit the heavy canvas bags until he burst them, spar with him until they were both dripping with exhaustion, but Steve adored watching her dance. He knew her as partner, friend and lover, but all of that and more showed when she danced. The changes wrought on her lingered and she either retreated to tend her own emotional wounds or came to him for succor. Sometimes she would want to be held, sometimes only his quiet company, sometimes violence that bordered on frightening, sometimes to fuck her like an animal until both of them lay wasted.

Child, coquette or conqueror, he loved all sides of her.

 

**Restraints**  
"Why the hell is there a work order for three industrial fire hoses missing from my building?" Tony demanded of the rest of the Avengers and company. "Because someone damn well better not be playing Die Hard off said building."

Delicately clearing her throat, Natasha called attention to herself before speaking with utter deadpan calm. "It took some experimenting, but they turned out to be the only thing on hand that could really adequately restrain Steve."

Every brain in the room went to the same gutter and every eye fell on Steve, wearing as dry an expression as the woman they all wondered might be more than merely his work partner. But no one was entirely certain.

"Binding and escape lessons," Steve explained with every bit of the straight-faced serenity of his partner.

There was no indication that any curious, dirty idea in their minds might or might not be true. Steve only smiled quietly and went back to his book. Anything they could come up with would never stand up to reality.

 

**Feather**  
"Yes sir, the cell has been taken."

It was supremely difficult to focus, but Natasha was a professional, dammit. And she would spork out her own eyes before she would let Sitwell see her flustered.

Even if the suckling kisses Steve was trailing down her belly was making that nearly impossible.

"You're out of uniform, agent."

Trying not to clench her jaw or flex the fingers of her bruised arm, Natasha managed to keep her voice even. "Yes. Medical needed to ensure my shoulder would recover adequately."

Something in her erotic torment must have shone through, some curl of her lip or darkening of her eyes, because Sitwell pounced of the flash of vulnerability. "Are you all right?"

He shouldn't sound so gleeful, the bastard, Natasha thought dizzily to herself, about ready to grab Steve no matter how badly that left shoulder hurt. Clenching her right hand around the phone until the plastic creaked, she breathed deeply and struggled to reply. "Just sore, Agent Sitwell. I need sleep and I will report to medical for further treatment if necessary. You will have my report before morning."

"Very well, Agent Romanoff. Goodni…"

Hitting the disconnect button and popping the battery out to kill the phone completely, Natasha tossed the thing aside and reached down to grab Steve's skull.

"Kinky bastard," she groaned as his lips trailed low on her abdomen and tugged at darkly red pubes. "Didn't even get out of uniform."

"Figured I better check morale first," he growled, slipping his tongue into the wet heat that made her moan, her hand grabbed at the cowl, fingers finding a bit of purchase in the ridiculous little feathery shapes at his temples, the edges of the eye holes, feeling the rasp of his hair trapped beneath. Pain and pleasure bled together from his demanding mouth deep in her pussy, the grip of his armored hands on her thighs, the sounds of their harsh breathing, the stink of war and sex thick in the air.


	2. Chapter 2

**Massage**  
"You okay?"

Pausing in rubbing her knee, Natasha shot him an easy smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Some of us don't heal so quick, super soldier."

Without thinking, Steve yanked his gloves off and knelt down by her boots to push away her hands, still alight with the dangerous blue electricity wired into her gloves. "Let me."

Bemused, Natasha opened her mouth to make some dry, sarcastic comment and was startled by the flash of outraged nerves in her knee. Unsure if that was pain or pleasure, she fell silent, watching Steve's intent expression as surprisingly dexterous fingers worked over tender flesh. Thumbs dragged up from kneecap to the meat of her strong thigh, smoothing away tension and soreness while fingers caressed into the sensitive back of her knee.

"I find rubbing out cramps and soreness is like tickling. Damn near impossible to do yourself."

Once he'd bumped into the pistol strapped to her leg, Steve reversed the firm strokes, lifting her foot onto his own thigh to get better access to her knee. Natasha's kneecap moved just a bit as he pressed around it, listening for her to make any sound that he was hurting. Warmed from his heat and increased blood flow as the stiffness receded, the leg relaxed and the rest of Natasha with it. Caressing all the way to the top of her tall combat boots, Steve finished up with rubbing his hands up and down his workspace on her skin to ensure the blood circulation had been maximized. Then he gently set her foot back on the floor and stood with a grin.

"There, that should help."

"Thanks, Cap." 

There was a wealth of hidden meaning in her words and in her slow smile.

 

**Candle Wax**   
Color was so much a part of who Steve was, the flashiness of the stars and stripes, the blaze of blue eyes and darkly gold hair, the flush of embarrassed or wounded red on his skin, the bruises that so quickly faded.

Grinning with feral delight, Natasha watched him squirm, drank in his groans and gasps, absorbed every flinch that shook him with each splat of heat on his skin. Already, she had painted the white and blue erratically over his contours, and now proudly added spattered stars of crimson. The wax carried the heat of the flame in her hand to his fair skin, flushed rosy with temperature and stimulation.

 

**Ice**  
Ice was a nightmare, a prison, a fear as real as his bones. Until the cold of it melted onto his skin in the heat of her mouth.

 

**Oil**  
"I cannot believe I'm actually uttering these words, but why are you shiny?" Tony heard himself say, squinting at the shirtless Steve in the communal kitchen. Were those dusky bruises on his neck and biceps or had it just been a longer night than even Tony was used to? Rubbing his aching eyes, he squinted, still unsure.

Looking down at his bare torso, Steve shrugged. "Baby oil."

With nothing further, he filled a coffee mug and strode off the way he'd come, it left Tony staring at the broad back. Were those dull lines in the sheen of baby oil? Running from neck to waist as though someone had raked fingernails…

Shaking his head, Tony wished he had been more awake for the whole thing, feeling as though he was missing something vital.

 

**Breast**   
The curves of her were sublime, the bones and tendons hard beneath the softness. The womanly curve of hip and thigh, the long lines of back and belly and collarbones, the plush curves of lip and cheek and breast. While she lay still in sleep, Steve drew sensitive fingertips over her, memorizing how much more he knew of her now. When once he could only trace graphite and ink in homage of womanly curves, now he could touch for real.


	3. Chapter 3

**Throat**  
Steve was happy to lie back, soaking up the heat of Natasha's body, eager atop his. Hard, white teeth flashed against his throat, biting none to gently at his skin, flashes of pain mixing with the writhing pressure of her flesh to his.

"I like you like this," she breathed out, a distinctive growl rumbling her smoky voice and Steve smiled.

"So do I."

Even when she wrapped those soft lips and sharp teeth around the vulnerable column of his windpipe, tension in her jaw as she worried at the ridges of cartilage, torn between tenderness and violence.

 

**Taut**  
She liked having him at her mercy, open to her touch, but it was a matter of pride to find a way to restrain him with a subtlety that befit her being assassin and spy. Oh sure, she could drag in heavy chains or thick moving straps, but where was the challenge in that?

Then she thought of the thick coils of fire hose discretely placed in the tower's stairwells every other floor. It was a clear showing of her rehabilitation that not only did she steal from unoccupied areas, but asked Jarvis to order new ones even as she stole the current ones.

Oh how she liked that look of lust and fear as Steve realized that his trustfully placing the safety of his mind and body in her care left him so very vulnerable to her and just how dangerous she truly could be.

 

**Whisper**  
Natasha is a creature of subtleties, of quiet and skill and sharpness. When she holds back, when Steve can coax from her a whimper, a squirm, a whisper of word, it is the sweetest music to his ears. Her trust, hard won, to let him draw vulnerability from her, no matter how small.

 

**Kiss**  
It had been unexpected, a whim, a moment of pure insanity. Steve hardly knew what hit him, the heat of her soft mouth melting some dense, icy place inside him. Not his first kiss, and in that moment he would have believed not even his most important kiss, but certainly the one he needed most.

 

**Handcuffs**  
They never used them.

They were merely a shiny, unspoken threat that dangled from the bedpost, a psychological tease.

Their bondage was a more complicated thing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a random note, Champagne was the first one I wrote. Also, I wanted a twist on Corset and it grew longer than anticipated. Hotter too! *laughs*

**Toys**  
Grunting and groaning, Natasha rode out the thick, hot slide of the hard cock inside of her, the noises she made taking on a strange, desperate whine as Steve thrust deep once more, rolling his hips, making her pelvis stutter erratically.

"So, I take it you like the little buzzer?"

The bastard was so smug that Natasha considered strangling him. But not before his patient, slow fucking-- and that marvelously evil little vibrator wrapped around the root of his cock-- finished the job.

 

**Corset**  
Thor hadn't batted an eye when Steve asked for a hand, merely pulling the laces taut until Steve had whined for mercy and complained, "How the hell can women stand these things?"

"We are forever fated to underestimate them," Thor chuckled and handed him a loose t-shirt to disguise the surprise from his fellow human males. "Such is the way of men."

"Isn't that the truth. Thanks for your help, Thor."

"My pleasure! Enjoy your love games, my friend."

Desperately hoping no one would bump into him unexpectedly, Steve skulked to Natasha's door and waited patiently for an answer to his pressing the doorbell.

"Miss Romanoff will see you, sir," Jarvis spoke with his usual manner as the door clicked open. Making a beeline for the bedroom, Steve paused to admire his sleepy lover looking sweet and almost childlike in the rumpled bedding.

"I know that grin," she chuckled with an edge that was anything but childlike and Steve's smile was filthy as he rocked his hips like those strippers in that awful movie. It earned the throaty chuckle he wanted, the sound stuttering to a breathless halt as he whipped off his shirt, despite the evil constriction of his surprise.

Natasha could only sit up and stare openly.

"Thought I'd forget?" Steve teased and sashayed over to within reach of those sensitive, deadly hands. "No way. Been waiting a week to try this out. You like?"

The way the dark embroidered fabric clinched his powerful torso and narrowed his already narrow waist, fascinated Natasha. The silky pajama pants hanging scandalously low and doing little to hide that he was turned on too, was a more familiar tease.

"I have to admit, I had no idea how hot this would be," she marveled and soaked up the low chuckle and the touch of big hands on her scalp and shoulders. Tugging her threadbare sleep shirt off, Steve bent to kiss her in raunchy promise, thick and hot behind her teeth, pressing her to the still-warm bed. The harsh brocade rasped over belly and breasts, shaking her breath and hardening her nipples as surely as an icy bath.

"Glad to oblige, sexy. Care to give it a spin? I've missed you."

"Yes," she hissed, desperate suddenly for the overpowering maleness of him on and in her, the contrast of the classically feminine article of clothing doing nothing to take away from that masculinity against her skin.

 

**Erection**  
The damn thing had been a nuisance so often, waking to life as his body was supposed to change from boy to man. It was pretty much the only thing that really seemed to change with adolescence to Steve's disappointment. Thick and long, it looked out of place on his frail body, a piece meant for a larger man than he would ever be.

Then, one day, the dick that had felt out of place at last fit his stature and he could take pride in the straight, upright thrust of it, standing away from the body he couldn't help but admire. 

 

**Champagne**  
The shock of it on his skin made Steve stifle a groan. Icy and prickling with bubbles bursting, the champagne tickled over the deep places on his belly, pooling in navel and the grooves between his abdominals. Greedily, Natasha followed the sensuous progression with eyes, then the teasing trace of elegant fingertips, before lowering her mouth to his skin.

How beautifully he sang for her touch.

 

**Cuddle**  
Eventually Natasha had deserted any pretense of watching the movie, stretching and resituating herself atop Steve's much larger frame. Nuzzling into that soft spot behind his ear, she pressed kisses there, enjoying how he squirmed. She curled her free arm over his heart and his hand on her shoulder stroked long and slow from nape to tail while the other came to rest atop hers, near both of their hearts.


	5. Chapter 5

**Fingers**   
No one knew better than Natasha how sensitive Steve's hands were. The inhuman strength of them belied other strengths, other skills. They were a perfect reflection of the man. The hero draped in the sacred symbols of his homeland was larger than life, wrapped in armor and bearing the shield the entire world knew. But he was also just Steve. As fast and deadly as he could be was direct contrast at how gentle and slow he was with the tools of the drawings that started to appear as his soul began to heal, when he stroked her pale skin reverently.

Sometimes, the sides of him would switch, the armored warrior tenderly saving a child or picking through rubble with sensitive hands. And sometimes, he would touch her so roughly it was more like battle, bruising her skin crushing her nipples, buried deep in the carnal burn that ran wet between her legs.

 

**Virgins**  
In that moment, he felt a connection to another denied him for so very long. The swamping wet heat of her needy body wrapped around the pillar of agonized want that had tormented him for so long. Buried in this willing female, Steve's brain went animal, his voice bass and dangerous, teeth bared against her jaw, hands hard on shoulder, in soft locks of hair. Rutting to wallow in the friction that made every nerve ending spark and burn, he dug toes into the wrecked bedding, drank in the violent sting of her talons in his ribs, the crush of her strong legs around his pistoning hips.

With a strangled howl, he felt the familiar white-out static of orgasm rip up from balls to brain, her softer cries point-counterpoint.

And he finally understood.

 

**Talking Dirty**  
"My beautiful girl," he'd mutter in the heat of the moment, and Natasha learned to ignore the cliché of it.

"Hey champ," she would greet him coyly to get an affectionate roll of blue eyes.

Gripped in the moment, lusty or otherwise, he would try out every version of her name he could think of, particularly fond of the rare use of _Talia_. The gift of her true name had not been lightly given. In contrast, she would call him by his full name in the throes of emotion, the _Steven_ taking on a distinct roll and exotic overtones as she slid away from her iron control as their bodies blended. The rich cadence of her mother tongue thrilled him, a barometer of her relaxation and trust.

Sometimes he would pin her down, hands hard and almost hurtful, clenched into red hair or around a strong limb while he ravaged her with desperate intent. 

Sometimes, she would wrestle him into temporary submission, tie his limbs into stillness so that he could pull and strain with all of his super human strength while she raked him with teeth and nails and the hot slick of her need.

Then? Then it was only _mine_.

 

**Sweet Nothings**  
He was wrecked, shattered with the weight of memory and loss. Unaccustomed to offering succor not derived from manipulation, Natasha hesitated before swallowing hard and shifting to lay softly against his side and stroke over the shape of his powerful back. With a wounded sound, he tensed into the bedding, gripping the pillow, torquing the whole great length of him into the mattress. How would he soothe her pains? What would this sensitive, scarred man do? 

Nestling closer and drinking in the heated blending of their naked skins, Natasha caressed wide shoulders and the silky fall of pale hair. Half atop his larger mass, she ignored the eroticism and pressed her lips to the curve of skull behind his ear.

"You aren't alone, Steve."

And as he sobbed, reaching back to cup her head to his, for somehow she knew she had found the right thing to say.

 

**Lips**  
Her beautiful serious mouth.


	6. Chapter 6

**Role Play**  
"That was great!"

Grinning coyly over her shoulder, Natasha spun around and slunk over, all hips and grace and sway. "Oh, thank you, Mister Director," she simpered and bonelessly folded her upper body to a half-extended leg atop a delicately pointed toe. Steve really needed to learn the names of all these ballet moves she enticed him with. "Do I get the job?"

The fluttering eyelashes really sold the silly game and Steve grinned wolfishly as he leaned back further where he was sprawled out on the wooden floor, watching.

"Well, it was an impressive performance to be certain, but there are an awful lot of girls who want the part. What makes you stand out? What ya gonna do to be a real diva?"

As much as Steve loved to hear the lilt of Natasha's native tongue, she liked when he would dole out hints of Brooklyn tough guy. Biting her lip coquettishly, Natasha folded herself over his supine body and slithered over him.

"Hmmm, let me see if I can't think of something."

 

**Self-Love**  
She'd told him he couldn't touch, sea green eyes twinkling with heated mischief. So here they sprawled on opposite sides of the bed, testing to see who would break first. Steve stared at the play of those clever, deadly fingers over the vulnerable, soft pink of her pussy, wetness glistening as though she had stolen the moisture right from his mouth, only half aware of his own clenched fist around the pillar of delicious agony between his legs. 

 

**Voyeur**  
The picture of innocence, the big men joined their companions for an evening in as a group. In a reversal of the norm, Steve took the oversized recliner that was Thor's normal throne and called for the comedy they had all spoken of fondly. How a board game had been turned into a film intrigued him. Unconsciously put out to be robbed of Steve's radiant body heat, Tony leaned on Thor's shoulder instead, Clint sprawled out beside him, Bruce at the far end, looking sleepy and relaxed. As was her way, Natasha was a small huddle in her favorite chair slightly away from the others, little more than a shadow in the dim room, the pressure of her ever-alert gaze flickering over each of them as well as the movie.

She was rarely a cuddler, that act far more intimate than sweaty and screaming in the sheets. Sometimes though, she would forget her aloofness, tuck her compact body amidst the much larger men, a welcome dash of felinity.

But they wisely never asked.

Steve sprawled openly in the recliner, one hand thrown over his head, the other along the deep groove where torso and thigh met. There was nothing sexual in his pose, the hand relaxed alongside his groin, but Natasha stared intently from her protective shadows…

And burned.

 

**Cyber**  
"What do you think, Steve?"

Always thrilled to hear his name on her lips, he was effortlessly drawn over, but the planned kiss to her smirking mouth stalled out halfway as he caught sight of the laptop's screen. Natasha's throaty chuckle spoke volumes, but Steve took no offense. How could he? The models on the screen were lovely certainly, but he didn't see them in his mind's eye, but the minx currently running a teasing foot up and down his leg and fingers behind his ear.

"The green one," he breathed and tore his gaze from the screen to drink in her sweet and coy expression.

"I do love a man with good taste."

 

**Phone Encounter**  
"So are we still on for burgers over at-- heads up Thor!-- at Teddy's?"

"Well, now that depends, Champ, I'm-- look out Bruce!-- pretty sure that you have some expectations to live up to."

"Aw shucks, doll, my apple pie not good enough for ya?"

"Tease. You know very well I'm more of a milkshake kinda gal. And the cute accent won't get you anywhere."

"Hawkeye! Twelve o'clock! And you are lyin' through your teeth about the accent."

"Guys, you do realize that you're still on comms, right?"

"Sorry, Tony, private dessert. Look out!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Strangers**  
That first day, he had noticed her, luminous against the backdrop of this strange and unwelcome new life. He couldn't have know that frisson of reaction, a bolt of heat from brain to heart to groin, would lead him to her side. It would take time to bury his ghosts, to negotiate their emotional briar patches of ice and fire and distrust. Then he won the right to woo her, to explore her, to take that final step of giving his body to hers.

And then to love her.

 

**Best Friends**  
"He looks at you like you're the sun and moon," Clint observed conversationally as they perched in the familiar limbo of waiting for the shit to hit the fan. "'Course, he looks at you like a starving dog at a steak too."

The faint twist of Natasha's mouth and something that might be a flush of embarrassment and memory on her cheekbones made him laugh warmly.

"Am I going to have to give the big brother speech?"

"Good luck with that," Natasha snorted, almost wanting to see that with her own eyes.

 

**Deep**  
Steve was a conscientious lover, attuned to needs that sometimes even she wasn't entirely cognizant of. Usually, it made the dance between them a give and take, a partnership in and out of the sheets.

But sometimes, he wasn't careful and he wasn't gentle. Sometimes he skirted the line of being a brute. With a strength she could never match, he would wrestle her down, take what he wanted; he would thrust hard, ignoring her whimpers of lusty discomfort as he filled her to burning, to swearing and squirming and babbling in the language she left behind.

But the burn in muscles forced to comply, to the ache of her pussy overflowing, she would finally give up control, screaming into the sheets like a woman possessed.

 

**Wet**   
Dripping head to toe, Steve regained his footing and looked wryly at his lover, who was grinning with feline satisfaction. She'd gotten the drop on him fair and square, crouching to ram her entire weight into ribs and armpit and sending him flailing into the fountain.

"Do I even want to know?"

"You deserve it, for making me watch that awful movie."

Steve burst out laughing, to the amusement of the random onlookers.

 

**Dirty**  
The stink of battle was an entity to itself. Filth, blood, fire; a thousand scents and sensations mixed together into a pong that crept deep into a soul. With the trappings of their heroic personas only half peeled away, they rutted away in a dark corner, determined to fuck away the ghosts that clung to them both like the scars and stink of battles they could never escape.


	8. Chapter 8

**Writer's Choice: Tempted**

The burn of those sea-green eyes were almost palpable, like a caress over his flesh, heat on his skin. With entirely feigned nonchalance, Steve shifted in the chair, legs flexing and stretching, hand dragging over his groin to scratch lightly at his midriff. A long, groaning cat stretch left him more relaxed, enough that he would have yawned were he not so very aware of eyes on him. It also left a strip of belly exposed to the flicker of the TV.

"Show off," Bruce observed dryly and the group chuckled as it would normally be a very sleepy Tony saying such a thing.

The display was too much for Natasha and she crept from her chair to skulk behind the couch and to Steve's side. Secretive as a shadow, she oozed over the sprawl of his frame with enough stealth to not call attention to her movements. With an adoring grin, Steve draped a hand over her shoulder, placing the other back on his abdomen and just touching her hip. That small camouflage let her own hand to splay over the hard ridges of his exposed belly and touch his wrist.

With effort, Steve refrained from nuzzling Natasha, satisfying himself with the heat of her body against his and teasing a thumb though the loose curls behind her ear.

Secret lovers no more.

 

**Writer's Choice: Surrender**

Learning to read her was a difficult language and one she hoarded jealously. There was nothing open about the Black Widow, but Steve picked apart the complicated sticky webs that made up the complex woman he found himself so drawn to. She was not covered in hard armor, but shifting shadows and camouflage. She could be a hard blow to the face, but was better the sudden sharp agony of a blade between the ribs. Warm seductress and ice queen and shattered child and reluctantly loyal friend, she was a dizzying pattern that had blinded most in the past.

But Steve was an artist, a man who had come from illness and deprivation and a world washed free of color until it was nothing but patterns of gray. With persistence, he started to figure her out, started to change himself to fit her, to learn and sometimes even teach. In surrendering to what she already was, he proved to be a pattern she found meshed with hers, something even an aloof spider could not resist.

 

**Cherries**

The act itself wasn't sexual, but Steve was about to go over the table in a horny male rush anyway. 

Ice cream had been a very rare treat in Steve's past, something to be looked forward to like a birthday or Christmas. Now the stuff was commonplace and often so elaborate and convoluted as to make it intimidating. Not unlike most of this new world. If it hadn't been for Natasha, Steve doubted he'd ever try something called 'White truffle razzle dazzle cheesecake delight'. Though, at the moment, his spoon was stuck halfway back to the glass while he stared and the fancy ice cream melted.

Satisfied with stealing the first few bites of the treat-- her usual MO-- Natasha had been watching him enjoy the rich calories before reaching out with deadly reflexes to snatch up the waggling stem of the maraschino cherry appearing in the mess. With a delicate, dexterous tongue, she licked off melted dairy, feigning ignorance to the effect of the show.

It wasn't just Steve who stared.

Smile dancing at the edges of her luscious mouth, Natasha chewed her treat, stem dancing once more at the corner of her lips.

 

**Supple**

There was a poetry to the Black Widow, a suppleness of body and spirit that allowed her to blend in anywhere. A change of pitch and she could be girlish or wounded or dangerous, the throaty voice a weapon in itself. Her compact, curvy body was its own sonnet, as graceful and deadly as water. Steve all too often felt like a lumbering ox beside her, as large and unwieldy as a falling tree, but came to realize that she improved him. Like a dance-- step one two, turn, pirouette, turn-- she taught without words, inspired by her mere presence, her expertise, her grace. 

When he responded, paid attention, took her quiet lessons to heart, she noticed and was drawn in. For he too was grace and power and danger, a thick skin over the frailty of who he had once been and at his heart, so often still was. It was that vulnerability that drew her in, first with the cold eye of a predator who once knew nothing else, then with the warm eye of someone who had come to care. 

Together, they created a graceful dance of their own.

 

**Suckle**  
Amused by the game, Steve shifted around to test his bonds, hands bound in the small of his back, pungent fabric obscuring his vision. Not an easy situation, but he had been in far worse. Now to earn his freedom.

Leaning over precariously--unaware of the stunning show of physicality he was displaying-- Steve relied on sheer strength to hold him up, mouth brushing against warm skin, drinking in the small sound of reaction. Nuzzling that soft, living heat of sweetly fragrant skin, he traced lips and the pointed tip of wet tongue over the hidden terrain, feeling his way blindly. A narrow ridge of muscle hard beneath the soft, a nipping flash of teeth, a soft, drawing suckle over the same spot, a whimper breathed out beneath a sigh.

Wandering further afield, he felt the brush of soft, wiry hair against his cheek, breathed deep of the wet of arousal, pressed open-mouthed kisses to the tender valley leading to that forest. The hard-soft ridges of flesh pulled corrugated over the skeleton beneath drew him next, faint protest to his teasing tongue in the soft gullies to torment. His smile accompanied him to the warm, supple weight of a breast where he nosed about, only doling out the occasional kiss until the symphony of small, encouraging sounds took on the thrum of a growl.

And who was he to argue with a lady?


End file.
